


Are you recording?

by temporaryistemporary



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Ghostbur, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Others - Freeform, Protective Wilbur Soot, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Suicidal Thoughts, Wilbur is the only one that dies and it’s just a mention of his canonical death, its Wilbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:13:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporaryistemporary/pseuds/temporaryistemporary
Summary: Tommy had a habit of recording things, ever since he was a kid. Important happenings in his life that he wanted to remember.So when the ghost of his brother starts acting strange, of course he’s going to document it.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 5
Kudos: 196
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	Are you recording?

**Author's Note:**

> *WARNING* suicidal thoughts and talk of death

Tommy had a habit of recording things, ever since he was a kid. Important happenings in his life that he wanted to remember. The habit continued as he got older, he even started recording moments upon entering Dream’s server: building his home, the first time Wilbur showed him around the camarvan, the signing of L’Manberg’s Declaration of Independence. Things that made him happy.

Soon though, he began to record other events too: the aftermath of Dream exploding their base, their thoughts after Eret’s betrayal, Election Day and their subsequent banishment. Things that were important to L’Manbergs history.

He maintained this habit throughout Pogtopia too, keeping careful documentation of anything he deemed important. Tommy had almost recorded the festival, but had ultimately decided against it, and he was glad he didn’t. He wasn’t sure if he could take it, hearing the screams of his best friend play back through the crackling speakers of his communicator. He already heard it enough in his nightmares. He didn’t record Schlatt’s demise either, never having documented actual battles, only the aftermath, and not wanting to give the ram hybrid anymore thought.

The events following Wilbur blowing up L’Manberg would remain forever untouched in Tommy’s files, safely stored away and forgotten about. He didn’t want to see the destruction again, didn’t want to catch a glimpse of his brother's corpse that he knew lay visible in the hole in the wall that eerily reminded him of the control room. Didn’t want to admit that he actually had caught the conflict that time, had begun recording once Tubbo had been announced the new president and had caught the venom dipped words Technoblade had spat at them. Without meaning to, Tommy had documented the entire explosion, and he didn’t have to check to know his communicator had picked up Dream’s horrible laughter, the way Tommy had cried out as he watched his brother die by their fathers hands, and the terrible shrieking of the Withers. Tommy didn’t need to watch it from the tiny screen of the com unit wrapped snugly around his wrist because he could see it every time he closed his eyes.

After that, he stopped keeping records for a while, not that he really needed to anyway. Things had quieted down, everyone’s mood becoming somber and grief stricken. He didn’t catch the rebuilding of the disaster zone, or Tubbo’s first official presidential speech, or even the introduction of Ghostbur. Not that he acknowledged anything of the spirit at first, other than what Tubbo had told him of the specter’s faulty memory.

In fact, Tommy did everything he could to actively avoid the ghost of his brother for the better part of a week. He’d quickly duck around corners, bypass areas where he heard Ghostbur liked to hang out, and would fully turn around and head the other direction if he saw the spirit while walking along the prime path. However, Tommy couldn’t dodge Ghostbur forever and eventually came face to face with the shade one early morning as he stepped out of his home. He had said nothing at first, his heart beating frantically in his chest like it was trying to make up for the lack of heartbeat from his brother.

Ghostbur ended up being the one to make the leap, softly apologizing for things he couldn’t remember and promising to make it up to him, and then letting out a startled yelp when Tommy’s only response had been to drop to his knees and bury his head in his hands. He didn’t cry, still too numb and feelings still too complicated from their time in exile. He did let out a shaky, tense breath when a hand that felt more like a stray breeze carded gently through his hair and a layered voice murmured more apologies and consoling words. Tommy ended up inviting his brother inside, talking for hours about what Ghostbur had been up to since he appeared and trying to map out the gaps in his memories. He stopped dodging Ghostbur as much, joking around with him and getting a look at the spirit’s new home. When Tommy had asked if he could take a video tour of his library, Ghostbur’s grin spread unnaturally wide across his face and he excitedly pulled his brother down to the sewers and presented every book he had in his collection, roaring with laughter at Tommy’s playful shouting as he brandished How to Sex #2.

No one mentioned it when Tommy began recording again, even if they almost exclusively revolved around Ghostbur or Tubbo. He didn’t document historical events, focusing back on keeping track of memories that would make him happy, things he wanted to save and be able to look back on with fondness. Not recollections that would make his chest ache and his eyes sting, things he knew in the long run would hurt because looking back on all the other videos he kept catalogued from the past hurt (but hadn’t he started this by recording happy memories? so why did those hurt just as much as the ones from the war, from Pogtopia?).

And so, when Tommy sat on top of his base scrolling through video after video while the stars illuminated the night sky, he wasn’t expecting to nearly jump out of his skin as the tiny image of Ghostbur that floated behind him in the video flickered, like a dying torch, the now familiar yellow sweater disappearing in exchange for the then familiar blue revolutionary uniform. The change only lasted for a moment, so fast that Tommy could almost convince himself he imagined it, but he quickly rewound and paused, staring at the still image of his brother that looked every bit like the general he used to be. His chest squeezed, the air in his lungs escaping him and he had difficulty reeling it back in, curling in on himself and keeping his eyes on the screen.

It couldn’t be a one time thing, Tommy thought. There must be something that provoked the old Wilbur out of his suppressed state. Tommy recalled what Tubbo had told him about a conversation he had with Ghostbur, not long after Schlatt’s funeral, how the spirit had been slipping between referring to “Alivebur” as a separate person and talking like they were still one person. He also knew from Quackity that trying to forcibly get Ghostbur to recall his past wouldn’t work either, the shade had become almost hostile and inconsolable before disappearing, only to show up two whole days later like nothing had happened. So Tommy wouldn’t try to push Ghostbur into remembering, but he could try to catch the moments on video, compile the evidence and try to see what the cause was, if there was one. For all Tommy knew, the slips could be random, small pieces of Wilbur that were still holding on but couldn’t quite push himself to the surface. But that was okay, because Tommy would be there when the next one happened, he wanted to see it with his own eyes. He needed to know there was more than just the shadow of his brother left.

* * *

Tommy had been hanging out with one of the newbies, Ranboo, when it happened.

He had been dragging the tall Enderman hybrid all around town, pointing out different structures and their history like he had done twice already. Ranboo had informed him upon their first meeting that he had trouble remembering things and he apologized if he repeated himself or forgot about something they talked about. But Tommy didn’t mind, he had just nodded along and sent the other boy a video introducing himself and things Ranboo could use to identify him (his love for cobblestone and music discs) for the hybrid to watch whenever he needed it. So they were strolling around L’Manberg again, going back over everything in the hopes that the multiple run downs would help solidify some of the memories, Ranboo scribbling away in a spare book the two had found in one of Tommy’s chests. He probably wouldn’t ever use it anyway (even if he complained and playfully teased Ranboo for “stealing his shit”).

They were passing by the newly rebuilt camarvan when Tommy saw it. A figure in blue was moving inside the vehicle, meandering in and out of view of the windows. Tommy had come to a dead stop much to the confusion of Ranboo, who let out a distressed warble, nearly running into the other teen.

“Have you met my brother?” Tommy asked, waving for Ranboo to follow as he headed to the van and reaching to turn the recording function of his coms on.

The hybrid’s head tilted at the question, pointed ears flopping. “No, not that I can recall. He’s a ghost, right? I think you or Tubbo mentioned that.”

“Yep. The one and only on the server.” They paused at the door and Tommy turned to look at Ranboo. “Listen, big man, he’s probably gonna be a bit… strange. If he’s in the state I think he’s in then he might not fully be ‘Ghostbur’ right now.” Ranboo hummed questioningly and Tommy sighed, not knowing how to explain the situation. “It’s fucking confusing but I just wanted to give you a heads up, in case Wi- _Ghostbur_ starts acting weird as shit.”

Tommy smiled when Ranboo let out a chuckle, facing away from the hybrid and knocking on the van door while keeping his camera pointed at the entrance. Not a moment later, just like he thought, Ghostbur ( _Wilbur?_ ) opened the door, dressed like he was during the war, and smiling at them.

“Tommy! There you are. And-” The specter paused, eyes drifting to Ranboo. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you.”

“Hey Big Dubs! This is Ranboo, he’s new.” Tommy paused, giving the hybrid time to give a short wave and a “Hello!”, before holding his com unit up for his brother to see. “Hope you don’t mind if I record while we’re here?”

Ghostbur softened at that, nodding. “Of course, Toms. When have I ever minded?”

Tommy could recall a few times, actually, back in that freezing ravine. Eyes watching his every move and annoyed voices snapping at him when they found out the camera was on. But he didn’t want to think about that. He cleared his throat awkwardly, ignoring the burning behind his eyes.

“So… Can we come in?”

“Yes! Yes.” Ghostbur quickly ushered the two inside, making to put a hand on their backs to guide them, the touch feeling like nothing more than a cool breeze. He led them to the back area, where the potion stands used to be. Tommy quickly whispered the significance of the structure to Ranboo, who, in turn, noted it down in his book. He kept his camera trained on his brother the whole time.

“It all seems so strange right now.” The sudden declaration had Tommy whirling to face the spirit, a question on his lips but was interrupted as the ghost continued to speak, running a translucent hand over the empty tables. “This is all familiar to me, but everything outside is different. I don’t recognize it.”

“How do you mean, Wil?” The shortened name slipped out, but Ghostbur didn’t correct the usage like he normally would.

“I-” The spector cut himself off, looking down at his hand and then glancing at Tommy, seemingly skimming over Ranboo, who strayed closer to the exit in case things went south. “I’m dead aren’t I?” Tommy winced at the blunt statement. “I’m a ghost?”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Then why- why is everything so-” Wilbur (Tommy was fairly certain this was _Wilbur_ , not _Ghostbur_ ) halted, harshly gripping his hair, though Tommy didn’t think he could feel it. “Tommy, I’m so confused. What’s going on?”

Tommy was wondering that as well, but he could tell by the state his brother was in that he wouldn’t be getting an answer. He shot a quick glance at Ranboo, making sure the other was alright, and seeing the hybrid watching Wilbur’s crisis with a look on his face that Tommy couldn’t place. He turned back to his brother, wanting so badly to reach out and comfort him but he knew his hand would go straight through the wavering figure. So he settled for sidling up next Wilbur, hoping the ghost could leech off some of his warmth.

“I’m not sure, big guy. Maybe you should rest for a little bit. Take a nap or something? Clear your head?” Tommy suggested uncertainty. He wasn’t sure if ghosts could sleep but Wilbur looked exhausted, whether that was his current state or if it spilled over from whenever Wilbur was pulling his memories from was up for debate.

“A nap?”

“You look tired.” Ranboo piped up, tail swishing anxiously behind him. “Sometimes when my head is messing with me, I sleep for a little bit and they’ll usually sort themselves out.”

Wilbur hummed at that, looking between the two boys like he was considering it. After a moment, he sighed and nodded to himself. “Alright, I guess a nap wouldn’t hurt. I think I’ll… go sleep, then. Thank you, boys.”

Both teens shot him a smile, earning a small one in return, and Wilbur nodded to himself again and just… faded out, leaving Ranboo and Tommy alone in the van. Tommy quickly ended the recording.

* * *

It was less than a week before it happened again, though the encounter didn’t last nearly as long and Tommy was so caught off guard, he had no chance to record it. Which was probably for the best, anyhow.

Tommy had gotten to bed late, for no real reason, he had just lost track of time. Not that it mattered because he was awake again no more than an hour later, sitting up with a shout and slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. He brought his knees up, hugging them to his chest and burying his head in his arms. He just sat there, wheezing and trying to regulate his breathing, and tapping his blunt nails against his other arm.

If Tommy had been paying attention he would’ve noticed the way the bell above his door chimed quietly even though the door itself remained stationary. He did catch it when the temperature in his room dropped suddenly, like it did every time Ghostbur appeared. He watched through his fringe as the spirit glided into his room, looking at everything with an oddly blank expression and form buzzing in a way that looked that static. It wasn’t unusual for the spirit to wander into his home. Then Ghostbur locked eyes with his, his image giving one last sputter, and settling on a comfy looking pullover and even comfier pants. Something he used to wear around their realm, before any SMPs, when it was just him and Wilbur and sometimes Phil. It made Tommy’s heart ache for home.

He hadn’t realized he started crying until semi-solid hands were brushing the offending tears away and his brother hovered directly in front of him. _His brother._ Not the general, or the president, or the convict. Just his big brother, softly smiling down at him.

“It’s alright, Toms. Everything’s okay.” A cold hand brushed his hair out of his face, the touch far more comforting than it should have been.

Tommy sucked in a harsh breath, still reeling from the sudden wake up. “Wilby?”

Wilbur kept murmuring affirmations, the hand never leaving his head as the tension bled out of Tommy’s frame. Eventually he was settled back into bed, the cooing never once stopping, and his eyes were slowly slipping closed. Tommy could almost imagine, for a moment, that he was a kid again, with Wilbur sitting at his bedside like he did when he couldn’t sleep, singing softly to him. His eyes finally shut, and he snuggled down into his bed, content.

* * *

Between accidentally burning down George’s house, the trial, and the fiasco on the wall, Tommy didn’t see much of Ghostbur during the days leading up to his exile. Consequently, he wasn’t around to see any traces of Wilbur peaking through the shade. But now, the spirit had decided to follow him from L’Manberg, helping him build the newly dubbed Logstedshire.

It didn’t occur to Tommy that he should record their building process until they were already half way through, but he activated his communicator anyway, taking it off his wrist and setting the device on top of a log and pointing it towards the center of the base. He continued tidying and placing blocks, waiting for Ghostbur to return with more materials.

The sun was starting to set as he finished placing some blocks over the bed, thinking it’d be best if at least _some_ of the roof was covered, when he started to shiver. He tugged Wilbur’s borrowed coat tightly around him, trudging over to a chest and sifting through it for food, his stomach growling in displeasure when he found none. They had been so busy getting a shelter together, Tommy had neglected to go searching for food and now it was far too dark and too dangerous to even attempt it. He sighed as he got to his feet, turning to head to the bed and screeching in surprise when he nearly ran into Ghostbur, who had been hovering silently behind him.

“Fuck you! Fuck you, you bitch!” Tommy coughed, still reeling from the scare. “You can’t just _do_ that. What the fuck?”

Ghostbur didn’t answer, watching him with an unreadable expression. He had been doing that a lot lately, Tommy realized, ever since he began wearing his brother’s coat. Tommy stared back warily and held back a flinch as the spekter reached out, delicately smoothing out the collar of the trenchcoat. The fabric barely moved, but the action seemed to appease Ghostbur, who let out a reverbed hum. And Tommy swore, for an instant, the shadow of his brother stood in front of him in the same coat, unbloodied and whipping around in a nonexistent wind. And then it was over and Ghostbur was handing him a few apples, ruffling his hair fondly and sitting on the bed.

(He would check the video later, after remembering he had been recording, to find that, yes, he was right. The Wilbur from Pogtopia had been there, if only for less than a second. Tommy wasn’t sure how he felt about that.)

It went on like that. Tommy sometimes catching fleeting glimpses of changes in Ghostbur’s form, not too often, and not long enough to bother documenting. He saw the Wilbur from Pogtopia the most over the next couple weeks, matching jacket and all. He wondered if it was because, on some level, Ghostbur understood Tommy was exiled, and what kind of memories it must be dragging up.

A nagging voice in the back of his head mused that Tommy was seeing things. That Ghostbur’s appearance wasn’t changing and Tommy was just losing his mind.

(An even worse part of his mind questioned if Ghostbur was ever real in the first place. Or if he was just a desperate attempt from a war-scarred child to hold onto the one piece of family that ever cared for him.)

(Tommy, very firmly, told those voices to go fuck themselves.)

* * *

(Later, after Ghostbur was gone and Tommy sat atop a hastily made tower, far above the ground, he would wonder if they had been right.)

(And then he would look back on the only video he had accidentally caught Dream in, too scared to film while the admin was around in case he decided to destroy his communicator too. And he would watch as Ghostbur approached, the masked man having his back turned and not seeing the yellow sweater change to a blue coat once again, expression thunderous and terrifying in a way that would be more suited for an exiled man. The moment was gone a second later but it had been enough for Tommy.)

(And then Tommy would fall, wind rushing past him and eyes on the ground as he angled himself towards the freezing ocean.)

* * *

Tommy hadn’t mentioned the glimpses of his brother’s past self to Technoblade.

He didn’t say anything after the general shoved him towards the box with a potion of invisibility, on the one day Techno had decided to fuck off away from the cottage. He didn’t say anything when his brother coaxed him out of his hiding spot once Dream was gone, with soft smiles and unmarred hands. And he certainly didn’t say anything after he woke from a nightmare to the ex-president pacing his tiny dugout, murmuring promises of pain and suffering and things Tommy didn’t even want to think about.

It wasn’t that he thought Techno wouldn’t believe him. Tommy knew he had enough evidence stored away to sway the piglin hybrid. He just didn’t think the other would care.

Tommy wasn’t sure why he didn’t tell Phil. Yeah, he still couldn’t get the image of Wilbur with a diamond sword through his chest out of his head. But he was their father. Tommy should tell him, right? And then he remembered that Phil was barely around for most of his childhood, didn’t bother to contact them after they had disappeared, leaving nothing but a note. The winged man hadn’t even shown up to help until well after Wilbur had lost the plot, and all he had done was kill his eldest son and leave his youngest to deal with the aftermath.

So yeah, Tommy didn’t tell Phil about it.

* * *

  
Doomsday had been hell.

Tommy was so, _so_ tired. His body hurt, and his head was pounding, the headache not going away even after respawning multiple times. Thanks to the rain, the cold was digging deeper into his bones, and he swayed listlessly on his feet. He was so tired.

Nearly everyone had dispersed, off to bandage their wounds and salvage what they could. But Tommy just stood there. He wasn’t sure what to do. Out of habit (and why the hell had this become the natural reaction in the face of disaster?), he switched on his coms and started recording, not bothering to look around, just pointing it down down _down_ into the crater that led all the way to bedrock. What were they supposed to do with this? He hardly noticed when Ghostbur floated beside him, humming a familiar tune.

“You’re filming?” Tommy hummed in response, not looking at the spirit. “Are you okay?”

And Tommy wanted to be angry at the question. Wanted to yell and scream that no, he wasn’t okay, his home had been blown sky high by their father, their father’s best friend, and someone who’s been tormenting him non-stop. Wanted to cry at the fact that he had been away from L’Manberg for so long, only for it to be destroyed the day after his return. Wanted to break down because the only things connecting him to his brother now was the worn out coat over his shoulders and the shadow hovering next to him. But he didn’t.

“Ghostbur?”

“Yes?”

“Is it better being dead?”

“...What do you mean?”

Tommy shifted awkwardly, still swaying near the edge of the hole. “I mean- I know you want to be revived now and all. But you said-” He turned to look at Ghostbur through soot covered bangs. “You told me once that you thought you being a ghost was better for everyone. Because people liked you more as Ghostbur than as Alivebur.”

Ghostbur looked uncomfortable now, a hand coming up to pick at his beanie. “Well, I did but-”

“Do you think people would like _me_ better as a ghost?” If the specter could still hold oxygen in his lungs, his breath would’ve left him at the question. “Dream hates me. Techno hates me. Phil hates me. And they did this!” Tommy gestured at the pit with his free hand. “Most of the others are pissed at me and the ones that aren’t have no idea what to do with me now that I'm back from exile!” There was the anger. “Maybe if I was a ghost, I wouldn’t cause as many problems, and they would actually like me!”

Tommy wasn’t aware he had begun to tug at his long hair until freezing hands grasped his own, somehow able to remove the clenched fists from his aching scalp. He looked up and there was Wilbur, the ex-president wearing a much less damaged version of the garment settled across his own shoulders. The intensity in his brother's eyes and the memories from the ravine made Tommy want to jolt backwards, but Wilbur’s grip was surprisingly strong for a dead man and he didn’t get very far.

“Tommy.” He froze at the sharp tone, eyes squeezing shut (that was the wrong move, he wouldn’t be able to prepare for the oncoming blow that way, he knew that). “Tommy, I need you to listen to me. Open your eyes. Look, I’ll even say it for your video so you can get this through your damn head.” His arm with the communicator was tugged closer to Wilbur, he assumed so the device would clearly pick up whatever the ghost was about to say, and he opened his eyes, squinting at his brother with his head still bowed.

The figment of the ex-president looked more real, actually standing between Tommy and the crater, instead of floating. His form was more opaque, and Tommy could see the beginnings of a blood spot forming on Wilbur’s undershirt. Wilbur moved then, stepping forward and forcing Tommy to step back, further from the hole.

“Toms.”

This time Tommy looked at him, hands still shaking. Whether it was from the cold or the terror, he wasn’t sure. Wilbur regarded him for a moment, a scarred hand reaching out and smoothing down the collar of his jacket like he had done nearly a month ago in Logstedshire. Tommy’s eyes burned.

“You are worth so much more than you seem to realize. There are so many people that care about you.” Tommy scoffed at that and flinched as two cold palms landed on either side of his face, tilting it up until he was looking into the specter’s eyes. “There are.”

“Like who?”

“Tubbo, for one-”

“He fucking exiled me!” Tommy snapped, hands coming up to shove the ghost away but phasing right through. It wasn’t fair that the shadow of his brother could have an affect on him but Tommy couldn’t lay a hand on him.

Wilbur waited until Tommy stilled, absently wiping a stray tear from his face, before he started speaking again. “He was being manipulated by Dream-” He ignored Tommy’s wince at the name. “-like you were, and he regrets it. He told you that.”

“That’s still only one person.”

“What about Ranboo? He came to visit you in exile and at Technoblade’s. I don’t think someone who didn’t care would do that. Not counting that green bitch because he has his own sick reasons.” Tommy huffed out a shaky laugh. “Sam visited you, remember. He even invited you to his base if you ever needed it. And Puffy gave you a Christmas tree. That sure sounds like they care.”

Tommy hummed, eyes drifting up to the obsidian grid in the sky. “Everyone else still hates me.”

“Well fuck them, then.”

Tommy snorted in surprise, looking back at Wilbur and giggling at his poorly concealed smile. “ _What_?”

Wilbur grinned at that, sharp and with far too many teeth. “You heard me. Fuck ‘em! You don’t need them. All you need is to be yourself, and if they don’t like that, that’s their problem. Because there are people that do like you. _I_ like you, Toms.”

“You’re my brother, that doesn’t count. You’re supposed to like me.” Tommy sniffled. “And of course you do, because I’m awesome.”

Wilbur chuckled, finally dropping his hands from Tommy’s face and shoving them into his pockets. “Of course.” The ghost pulled out a translucent object from his pocket, the thing turning a soft baby blue from where his fingers touched it, and all but shoved it into his younger brother’s grasp. “Here, take some blue. I think it’s about time I go.”

Tommy watched him with wide eyes, the item in his hands darkening in color. “What do you mean, time for you to go? You can’t leave me!”

“I’m not! I won’t. I just meant…” He trailed off, shuttering as his form flickered and solidified. “I’ll still be around, I still have business, things that need to be done. I just meant it’s time for _this_ me to go. I can already feel my memories fading again. I’ll still be here, just as… Ghostbur, I guess. What a stupid name, who even came up with that?” Tommy laughed again.

“Ghostbur did, actually. He calls you, _this_ you, Alivebur.”

“Well that’s bullshit, I was here first. I’m not alive me, I’m just me.” They laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, Wilbur cutting off with another shiver.

“I’m still mad at you, y’know.” Tommy whispered, wrapping his arms around himself.

“I know.”

“You fucked up.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“But I’m gonna miss you.”

His brother smiled. “I’ll be back. Ghostbur wants to be revived, remember.”

“I know but-”

“I understand.”

Wilbur moved then, wrapped wispy arms Tommy’s shoulders, knowing his brother wouldn’t be able to hug back but wanting to provide comfort anyway. “I love you.” Tommy returned the sentiment, mumbling the phrase into his chest. “I’ll see you soon, ok?”

And when Tommy blinked, the ghost had gone, disappearing back to wherever it was that he went when not in the living world. Numbly, he looked down at his communicator, eyeing the flashing light that let him know it was still recording, and switching it off.

* * *

(And if Tommy replayed the video, over and over again until his brothers words were burned into his brain, well, that wasn’t anyone else’s business.)

* * *

He still saw Ghostbur after Doomsday, just like the other had promised. Had even gone to his botched resurrection, standing far away from Philza, but near enough to catch the spirit’s eyes. He left not long after it started, feeling sick at how familiar the scene was.

And then he had gone off with Tubbo to fight Dream, saying their goodbyes to everyone on the way out (he didn’t record it, it would’ve been a waste anyway). The last thing Tommy saw before they left the area of the SMP was a uniformed silhouette near the water.

* * *

  
Coming back from the fight alive was something Tommy hadn’t been sure was possible. But they had done it. He had his discs back and him and Tubbo were both _alive_.

Tommy smiled softly as he popped Cat into the jukebox, returning to sit next to Tubbo and fiddling with his communicator. Tubbo laughed when he saw what he was doing.

“You gonna record?”

“Well, of course I am, Big Man! We won!” He finally switched the device on, making sure to catch both him and Tubbo on the bench, with the jukebox in the background. “We did it. I need to document this moment.”

“Of course.” Tubbo whispered, smiling. “We did it.”

“We won.”

  
  


_“And you’re not dead.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I just really like the idea that Tommy “I’m a youtuber” Innit just records things around the SMP. Whether it’s funny pranks or important meetings or sneaky videos of his friends. So that’s where this came from.
> 
> Also, Wilbur said on his recent livestream that he’ll be back on the SMP soon and I’m so excited!


End file.
